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This essay considers what we are calling queer terror, an affective condition not limited to LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender) or other minoritarian subjects, and its relationship to fear, hate, and factionalism (or isolationism). That is, queer terror is both terror against queer subjects and a queering of terror culture itself. We ask whether, through the act and its viral media representations, queer terror creates minoritarian public sphere that can be shared by queer people of color (QPOC) and allies alike. This affectively queer allyship begins with a racially and queerly attentive politics and seeks community both in response to and as a refusal of the kinds of terror that made Orlando possible. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Living in a small southern town, my narrative performance explores the anger, pain, and, at times, privilege of isolation when not having a queer community with whom to publicly mourn following the massacre at Pulse nightclub in Orlando. Complicating this further is my dissonance as to whether or not the Orlando Latinx community is, in fact, my community at all to mourn. When finally finding and attending a vigil a town away, my identity as a queer femme woman was pushed to the side to make way for anti–second-amendment speeches, a political campaign opportunity, and a Muslim man trying to prevent Islamophobia. Weaving the metaphor of the brewing storm with my narrative of the problematics of small town advocacy, what unfolds is a collision of my identities crashing into my prejudicial thoughts and ideas, despite espousing “good liberal,” antiracist, and intersectional politics. Ending with more questions than answers, I narrate the ways in which difference is erased in my small town, and yet, how simultaneously those of us fighting for social justice learn to negotiate challenges together, forging coalitions between people of differences. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

This reflective essay uses an instance of gestural solidarity forged during Petrichor, a senior thesis performance at Princeton University created by transgender artist Bree White, to probe both the “Keep Dancing Orlando” video made in response to the horror of June 12, 2016, and, more broadly, the specific mechanisms through which dance creates communities of shared labor across difference in troubled times. It posits the reach—the moment when outstretched arms move toward, for, and sometimes with another—as the kinesthetic unit incarnating dance’s political-affective potential. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

The article offers the author's insights on the tragedy in Pulse bar in Orlando, Florida and the grief for the victims which is like the death of a gay prisoner who committed suicide in a prison cell. Topics mentioned include the experiencing of grief like a trauma, the death of queer named J on August 3, 2015 in a jail cell, and the grief of the Latinx family.

Queer Ugandans operate as identity fugitives, a term to describe the ways gay and lesbian Ugandans cannot share their whole selves in the public domain and sometimes even in policed private spheres. Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) organizers have responded by creating refuges for endangered and alienated queer Ugandans. These spaces are sacred because they resist homophobic sites of hostility throughout Uganda. In June of 2016, the Ugandan LGBTQ community commemorated victims of the Orlando massacre in the United States as they meditated on the fragility of queer life globally. The violence at Pulse nightclub in Orlando reinforced the precariousness of these cultivated sacred spaces. The LGBTQ community in Uganda bravely commemorated the victims of the massacre by creating a transnational site of mourning, one that highlighted the dynamism of queer expression even under government sanctioned societal oppression. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

The massacre at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, Florida, impacted the lives of queer people across the world. As a gay White male living hundreds of miles from the horrific events, I was intimately connected with the aftermath through social media, blogs, and news reports. Through autoethnographic exploration of three distinct text-based digital conversations in the days following the massacre, I reflect on the ways that virtual and nonvirtual communication intra-acted to produce and mediate powerful emotional moments. As a performative work told in three(ish) acts, I contextualize these conversations in the fears, desires, and frustrations of my lived experience. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

An introduction is presented which discusses articles in the issue on topics including the mass shooting at Pulse Night Club in Orlando, Florida, terrorism, and hate against the LGBT community.

The article focuses on making a safe bar space for gay men, where they could be comfortable without interrogation. It also talks about the mass shootings in the Pulse gay bar at Orlando, Florida by a gun man, the need to be aware of the people, especially being aware of heterosexuals and homophobic queers.